The Pinch

"Ma used to tell this story," I began, leaning back in my worn-out armchair, my own sinuses throbbing just thinking about it. "Her great-aunt Millie, this firecracker with a dentures-are-optional kinda attitude, kicked the bucket. Ma was devastated. Millie was the only one who let her put glitter on the dog."
Across the room, my husband, Doug, stifled a yawn. "Glitter on the dog. Right. Riveting."
"Hey, show some respect! It's a sensitive story! Plus, Ma was battling a killer sinus infection at the time. You know, the kind where you feel like someone's tap-dancing on your face?"
Doug, a man of logic and little patience for the supernatural, just rolled his eyes. "Wonderful. A sinus infection saga. Can't freakin' wait."
"Shut up and listen! So, Ma's laying in bed, head throbbing like a goddamn drum solo, and she tells Pa the weirdest thing. She was napping that afternoon, and she swore someone came up to her, leaned over, and she felt this intense warmth. And she heard a voice, clear as a bell, saying, 'It's gonna be alright.'"
Doug snorted. "Probably just the decongestants talking. 'It's gonna be alright, and you can now control weather patterns with your mind! Side effects may include excessive flatulence.'"
I glared at him. "You're the reason I stopped trying to have deep conversations with you, you know that? Anyway, Pa just laughs it off, calls her delusional, typical. But that night..." I lowered my voice, trying for a dramatic effect that was probably lost on Doug, the human embodiment of skepticism. "That night, Ma said Pa woke up screaming bloody murder."
Doug perked up a little, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Okay, you got me. Screaming bloody murder? What, did he find out the dog used all his hair gel?"
"Worse! He said he was lying in bed, almost asleep, and he turned over. And he saw something glowing at the foot of the bed. He squinted, trying to make out what it was, and he realized... it was Great-Aunt Millie! Standing right there, transparent, like a blue-tinted ghost, and glaring at him like he owed her money!"
Doug burst out laughing. "Oh, come on! A blue-tinted ghost! That's the best you've got?"
"Wait, it gets better! Pa said Millie started floating towards him. She wasn't smiling, she wasn’t waving, she was giving him the death stare. And then, she reached out and... pinched his nose!"
Doug’s laughter turned into a wheeze. "She pinched his nose? A ghost? Pinched his nose?"
"That's what he said! He woke up with a jolt, his nose throbbing, and Ma swearing she could still smell mothballs! Pa never made fun of her 'sinus infection hallucinations' again. Ever."
Doug wiped a tear from his eye. "So, let me get this straight. Your great-aunt Millie, the glitter-on-the-dog enthusiast, came back from the dead... to pinch your grandpa’s nose? That's how she chose to use her afterlife powers?"
"Hey, maybe it was a warning! Maybe Millie was offended by his unbelief! Or maybe she just really, really hated his snoring."
Doug sobered up a little. "I still think it was a dream. A really, really weird dream fueled by bad pizza and too much History Channel."
"Maybe. But Ma always said, even after all those years, Pa would still flinch whenever someone mentioned Millie's name. And he always slept with a clothespin on his bedside table."
We sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the low hum of the refrigerator. Then, Doug grinned. "You know what? I'm going to sleep with a clothespin tonight. Just in case."
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Scared?"
"Nah. Just want to be prepared. Besides," he winked, "if Millie does show up, maybe she'll finally tell me where she hid the damn glitter."
And that, my friends, is the story of Great-Aunt Millie, the blue-tinted ghost, and the infamous nose pinch. Believe it or not. Just don't say I didn't warn you. And whatever you do, don't sleep with your mouth open. You never know who's lurking, ready to settle a score, one ghostly pinch at a time. After all, some grudges just don't die.